spend it. They clustered round her, and all but ignored her dowdy friend. A pile of possibles rapidly accumulatedâthis top, that skirt, and a selection of shoes. Er, Siân, you do only have one pair of legs, you know?
Half an hour later I was beginning to wonder how much longer this was going to go on. The salesgirls continued their fluttering about Siân, offering this and that for her approval.
I sighed deeply.
One of the salesgirls heard me, and to my surprise turned and met my eye.
âWas that boredom, miss? Or exclusion? If youâre bored, I canât help you. But if youâd like me to find you something thatâs right for you, then just say.â
âI donât know. Both. To me, clothes are just ⦠clothes. It seems a lot of fuss, just to keep warm. But Siânâs different. Sheâsâ¦â
âSheâs older? Got a different figure to you? Yes, she has. But I can still help you be you. Itâs something your parents canât do.â
She was good. My elbows and knees were still the elbows and knees that had been so awkward, dancing to the Slade tribute band. Literally the same, for Iâd not grown in all that time. But she found a few items that werenât childish, yet didnât demand teenage curves I didnât possess. Blacks, to match my hair. I thought she might suggest reds to go with it, which Iâd already decided would look cheap, but she was wiser than that, and found a skirt and a matching blouse subtly streaked with silver-gray. It made me think of a webâOxtedâs webâwhich somehow appealed.
Siân looked briefly across, and nodded, approvingly. Her own shopping was nearing completion, and five minutes later she joined us, with a selection of carrier bags in her hands.
âCanât decide?â she asked.
I showed her my choices. A couple of tops, a skirt, and a pair of trousers, all themed black and silver.
âBut I canât afford them allâmy allowance wonât stretch that farâand I donât know what to leave out.â
We had an argument then. Siânâs solution was simple; sheâd buy for me what I couldnât afford. For my part, I was trying to be noble, the nobility of the poor. But I really wanted that outfit. The salesgirl was right; it was a part of becoming me, and I couldnât fight that. And it fitted my plans.
I walked out of the shop, dressed in black and silver, with more bags under my arm.
Â
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I looked at my watch. It was nearly time.
âSiân. Iâve got a confession to make.â
She looked at me, alarmed.
âIâve not been to London like this, you know, without grown-ups. And I thought, itâd be a chance to, well, meet someone. A friend. From my holidays, a couple of years back.â
âA boy, you mean?â
I nodded, blushing.
âJohn.â
âOf course. I should have guessed. Have you arranged something, then?â
âSort of. Heâs waiting for my call. But if youâve got other plansâ¦â
She was smiling gently.
âCall him. Where shall we meet?â
âHe said heâd meet us for lunch. Thereâs a café he knows, a few streets away. Itâs safely in the Green Zone and itâs not too expensive, he says. Itâs called Antonioâs.â
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Antonioâs had once been Italianâpasta and pizza, but had evolved into something not quite so pigeon-holeable. It was darker inside, blinds drawn, and partitions to keep out any daylight through the doors. It felt like weâd shifted seamlessly in time to the evening.
It managed to hint at elegance and exclusivity, yet an exclusivity that was not based simply on wealth. You, it seemed to say, are the kind of customer I want, because you know who you are. You have style and wit, it said, and you are welcome.
And at the end farthest from the door there was a stage, where a band was starting to set